


The Golden Floor

by dreamyemptysouls



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fluff, Hivebent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-15
Updated: 2011-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-27 09:36:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/294300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamyemptysouls/pseuds/dreamyemptysouls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Tavros Nitram, and you're currently smiling from your bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Golden Floor

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a drabble request for my sister on tumblr.  
> She requested this pairing, and the song The Golden Floor by Snow Patrol.  
> She also contributed with her headcanon on the origin of Tavros' robot legs.  
> I can't for the life of me, change the color and font for the last part, though...  
> Well, enjoy!

Your name is Tavros Nitram, and you're currently smiling from your bed.

Yawning, you stretch up your arms and torso, reveling in the golden hues of the environment embracing you, and for good measure you stretch your legs too. It comes as no surprise that you are able to do so, and with a swift motion, you jump out the covers, and make your way to the ever-open window. You smile, facing the bright yellow hallows all around and below you, and it comes so easily to just stop resting your feet on firm land and instead be surrounded and suspended on air.

You let the breeze carry you out the window, hold your otherwise crippled body in its infinite freedom, and in these moments when you're dreaming, you are actually able to fly up there, reach higher, boundless, ever-confident.

The white carapace people below know to ignore your enthusiastic roaming by now, but this doesn't seem to diminish your excitement at all. You can spend hours doing nothing but this, blissful and carefree, especially if you remember what waits for you as soon as you wake.

This night, however, soon proves to be different from the rest. Among the tiny points of white that walk the narrow streets down below, you recognize a messy tangle of hair, a pair of long, upright horns, your best friend seeming somewhat lost in the strange moon of Prospit. You promptly steer your flight in his direction, your grin doubled, but your expression falters as you notice how concerned he looks.

His name is Gamzee Makara, and he immediately masks his worn out expression of loss as soon as he sees you. You can't really stop yourself from smiling again at seeing him here, and he's the first of your neighbors to be awake. He surely looks surprised at seeing you flying, but he soon congratulates you on it, pointing out how much happier you look here.

Through a grin, you explain how easy it actually is to fly, and as you gingerly offer him your hand, he takes it. He hovers with you, and with no effort the both of you are high in the air again.

Motherfucking miracles, he chuckles.

You barely register that this is actually the first time you're seeing your friend face to face, and the fact that your first meeting sees you flying together only makes you smile. He is strangely silent, as you point and talk, explain all the marvellous details of the moon that harbors their slumbering bodies, but then again this role reversal is kind of pleasant.

Your dream-self is so very different from you, after all. Confidence oozes from this body, and it feels even better than before you lost use of your legs. And it feels so much better than your waking moments playing Sgrub, endlessly bullied - or worse, pitied - by everyone else. Maybe that's why you've been sleeping so much lately. Maybe that's why it's been a while since you've talked to your friend.

You realize his dream-self is just as different from waking Gamzee, but on the opposite direction. His smiles don't come as easily and his expression has lost its dazed, spaced-out aura. He seems to be more lucid in dreaming than he ever was awake, and the signs of weariness he shows, subtle headache and demotivation, worry you profusely.

But he refuses to stain this wonderful meeting with sadness, and the two of your are back to exploring the golden moon, giddy and grinning. Conversation flows easily between you as you fly and then walk, and you begin to like this lucid version of your friend quite a lot. There's a lot of the same silliness and gangly laid-back composure there, but at the same time he speaks less and always with a serious, solemn edge to his words. It's interesting, and it gives you valuable insight on this side of him you've never seen. But you still silently worry about his exhaustion, and wonder if it's time you convinced him to let go of the sopor slime when you wake.

In any case, the golden city holds much more excitement when you're in company, and bringing your friend along only helps you discover a whole new range of activities you've never tried before. Prospitians are known for their bright festivals, clear inspiring music even in times of war, and for the first time you are dragged to a dance, your friend grinning like usual as he holds your hand.

The two of you dance with a subjective degree of success, but the white carapaces still cheer you on, bowing down to you as you pass in gleeful motion. In the end, he pulls you in for a close embrace, and you bittersweetly wonder if you've ever been shown so much tenderness before. You squeeze him back, the warmth inviting and the touch pleasant, and you press your toothy, smiling mouth to his ear as you invite him back to your tower. You can already feel the first signs of waking, the blurriness along the golden edges of the horizon, and you want to be safe with him as you're both pulled out.

He nods and you're flying again, hand in hand, back to the place you came from. As your vision becomes progressively blurrier, you lay down on your bed, and he follows you, shoulders and arms touching, aligning his considerable height with yours.

In these moments pre-waking you remember how this friend has confessed flushed feelings for you before, and while fondly gazing at his weary yet genuinely happy expression, face paint smeared on the spots your fingers touch, you think you can return the same feelings.

Promise me you won't lose this confidence when you wake, he whispers, and you wish it could be that easy. I can help you walk again, he adds, and he looks so brutally honest. I know the right people, who'd be dying for me to boss them around. But you have to know confidence doesn't come from only that. You are amazing, Tavros. You're the best motherfucking brother a troll could ask for.

You promise him all these things, even if the possibility of waking life ever feeling like this seems so remote to you. Your friend's face is a blur of white, purple and golden smiles as you lean in to kiss him, but you're awake before your lips touch.

Your name is Tavros Nitram, and you're currently smiling from you bed, but you know better than leap out from it so easily.

You wonder if you'll ever be able to walk again, or if your waking confidence will ever match that of your dreams.

You wonder when you'll be able to meet Gamzee face to face again, and you hope not to miss your second kiss this time.

From the bed, you stretch out your body and reach for your husktop, and your friend, your matesprit, is peacefully sleeping on the screen. You also wonder if you'll ever see him as solemn as now while awake, and then you message him.

AT: uHH, SORRY FOR INTERRUPTING OUR,,, uH,,, MORE-THAN-FRIENDLINESS LIKE THAT,,, wE WILL HAVE TO REENACT THAT LAST BIT AT A LATER DATE, i GUESS,,,  
AT: wAIT,,,  
AT: }:) <3 :o)  
AT: }:D

You wait, and maybe time will be benevolent to you all.


End file.
